


Wonderland

by Severina



Category: Young Riders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-28
Updated: 2003-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His livelihood was being consumed by that prairie fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Something Wonderful"

Buck directed the wagon to the front of the ranch house, his brow furrowed and his mind distracted by errant thoughts. It was only when the horses came to a stop that he realized he’d reached his destination. He glanced at his hands, gripping the reins tightly enough to be drained of blood, then raised his head to quickly scan the porch and surrounding land. He shook his head in consternation. If Elizabeth had been nearby, she’d have seen the worried look on his face, no matter how fast he tried to hide it. She’d have known that something was wrong. He shook his head again, determined to plaster a convincing smile on his face before he faced his wife. He would not burden her with his troubles.

He pulled himself from the buckboard, and his good intentions abruptly faded when his gaze fell on the corral. The verdant grassland should be teeming with horses. His horses. Buck’s shoulders slumped as his eyes raked over the few remaining members of his once thriving herd. He’d had to put down the last of the stallions only last week. The disease that had attacked his horses had run rampant and once it had spread, it was like a prairie wildfire. There was no stopping it.

Now the bills were piling up. Today, both the mercantile and the feed supply store had threatened to withhold any more credit. And he had no idea where the money to pay them was going to come from.

His livelihood was being consumed by that prairie fire.

Buck ran a hand through his hair, turning his back on the nearly empty corral before hefting a large sack of sugar onto his shoulder. He took a deep breath and focused on “happy thoughts” before heading toward the front door.

He’d taken only a few steps before the sound of Elizabeth’s voice drifted from the backyard. Elizabeth’s very loud, very strident, very angry voice.. Dropping the bag of sugar carefully on the steps, Buck reversed direction and began striding purposefully along the side of the long ranch house, his hand resting casually on the butt of his gun.

“…but I don’t expect you to understand that, Mr. Bellingham, since you seem to have only a rudimentary understanding of the English language!” Elizabeth was asserting loudly as he rounded the corner into the backyard. “As for your _offer_ ,” Elizabeth spat the word like a curse, “I can assure you that neither this property nor this stock are for sale. And if it were, you can be secure in the knowledge that we would not sell to an overstuffed, overeducated, pompous windbag such as yourself!”

Buck arched a brow and lifted his hand from his gun. It was obvious that Elizabeth had the situation well in hand. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms at his chest before asking placidly, “Is there a problem?”

“Mister…” Bellingham’s voice quivered slightly, and Buck had to force back a grin. It was plain to see that the city slicker had never had to deal with a tart-tongued blonde banshee before. Luckily, Buck mused, the pleasures far outweighed the disadvantages.

Bellingham cleared his throat and tried again. “Mister Cross, I’m glad to see you,” he said, this time the words coming out clear and strong. The man tucked his hands into his vest, the posture coming off as an affectation he used frequently. He seemed to puff up at the sound of his own voice. Buck could imagine that voice enthralling a courtroom back east. Fortunately, Sweetwater was not “back east“ and an orator‘s voice had little value here. “I was merely telling your lovely wife…”

Elizabeth let out a decidedly unfeminine and most unlovely snort. Buck risked a glance in her direction, but her eyes were fixed heatedly on the dandy who’d seen fit to disrupt her day.

“Um… yes…” Bellingham struggled to get back on track, “I was telling your wife that I’d be willing to make an offer on your land--”

“And I was telling this officious little toad that on the day we sell to him, pigs will dance a waltz on Main Street,” Elizabeth interrupted hotly.

Buck put a hand to his mouth to stifle his own snort at Bellingham’s shocked expression.. He moved forward, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. The contact seemed to jolt the man out of his stupor.

“It appears, Mr. Bellingham, that you have your answer,” Buck said matter-of-factly, giving Bellingham a little push toward the front of the house. With a final look of horror in Elizabeth’s direction, Bellingham took the cue and made his leave. Only when he was certain that the man was out of hearing distance did Buck turn back to his wife.

“Bethie--”

“Don’t!” Elizabeth’s sharp tone and upraised palm stopped both his voice and his forward momentum. He searched her face, finding only barely suppressed fury. Fury at him. “Take care of something in the stables, and don’t come in the house!”

Buck took a faltering step. “There’s supplies for the kitchen--”

“Hang the supplies! I mean it, Buck, stay outside!” With a final glare, Elizabeth drew up her skirts and stalked into the house. Buck winced as the screen door slammed in her wake, and wondered what he‘d done to stir up Hurricane Elizabeth. From the way she sounded, he’d be sleeping on the sofa tonight. And he wanted to know what he’d done to warrant that kind of punishment! But Buck was no fool -- he’d wait till the storm had passed. It always did.  


* * * * *

By the time thirty minutes had passed, Buck had straightened the tack room, reorganized the tools, and re-labelled fifteen packages of feed. Finally he merely slumped onto one of the sacks of grain and stared into space. Try as he might, he couldn’t figure out a plan of attack that would enlighten him as to the source of his wife’s anger without unsheathing her stinger in his direction. He was considering options -- a straightforward attack or a diversion? -- when the rustle of skirts caused him to raise his head. Elizabeth stood framed in the open doorway, and as usual the sight of her bathed in diffused sunlight made his blood race and his heartbeat quicken.

“Buck? Come on. We’re going on a picnic.”

Buck found that his mouth had dropped open, and he closed it with a snap. If she had noticed, Elizabeth gave no sign. She merely turned and walked back the way she’d come, certain that he would follow.

He followed.

Buck relinquished the reins of the still-loaded wagon to Elizabeth, content to watch her as she directed the horses to her apparently planned destination. She occasionally stole glances behind them, ensuring that the picnic basket placed precariously amongst the sacks and packages in the rear of the wagon was secure. Buck cleared his throat, a precursor to actually asking what brought upon this sudden change of heart. A sharp glance from Elizabeth made him change his mind. Instead, Buck folded his hands on his stomach and turned his attention to the scenery. He was perfectly willing to wait for Elizabeth to make the first move. In fact, since Buck had no idea what he was going to say anyway, he actually preferred it.

The wagon turned onto a little used road on their property -- the road that led to the shack that had been the land’s former homestead. When he’d bought the land and begun creating his ranch, the tiny leaning building had reminded Buck of the former bunkhouse. And he’d lived in it during the first few months when the new house was being built.

Getting down from the wagon, Buck saw that the little shack had not weathered the previous winter well. The slant of the roof was more pronounced than he remembered, and the small chinks in its neglected walls had expanded to mammoth proportions. He felt a twinge of guilt, remembering the building as it had been the previous fall, when he’d brought his new bride to see it. Elizabeth had been thrilled at the prospect of another house on the property. She’d been filled with plans to convert it to a playhouse… already preparing for the day when they’d be blessed with children.

Now she was with child… and Buck would be afraid to let a titmouse into that house, never mind a rambunctious toddler.

Buck turned to see Elizabeth already spreading a blanket out on the rocky land near the fence… the only part of the fence that hadn’t already tumbled over in a rotted heap of lumber. Determined to shake off his melancholy mood and get to the heart of whatever was troubling her, Buck crossed the ground to drop to his knees at her side.

“Elizabeth--”

“Do you remember this place?”

Elizabeth’s voice was mild, but Buck still found himself averting her eyes. He scooped up a small handful of sandy soil, letting it drift through his fingers before answering.

“There’s still time, Elizabeth,” he said at last. “I have months to do the repairs. We’ll have our playhouse.” Buck winced inwardly, both pleased that he managed to keep his voice steady and ashamed that he was making promises that he didn‘t know he could keep. In a month, he reflected, he might not even own the land.

“Not _that_ ,” Elizabeth’s voice brought him from his reverie.. “That.”

Buck raised his eyes, following the direction of his wife’s pointed finger. His gaze took in the ramshackle fence, the leaning wagon wheel, the waterless well, the dry and dusty land. Finally he turned back to Elizabeth, at a complete loss as to what she meant.

Elizabeth sighed. “Last autumn, just after we were married, you took me on a tour of the ranch. We looked at the bunkhouse and yes, we made plans to convert it. And then we went inside and,” Elizabeth blushed slightly at the memory, “christened it.”

Buck smiled at the recollection as he took Elizabeth’s hand in his. “I remember _that._ ”

“And afterwards,” Elizabeth continued, “I asked you why you didn’t use this land. I thought that it could be used for planting and you said that the soil was too dry and too rocky. That nothing would grow here. That it would be useless to even try. You called this land desolate.”

Elizabeth pulled her hand from his and got to her feet, her arms spread wide as she walked to the wagon wheel. Her gaze fell on the flowers clinging tentatively to life under the blazing sun. Carefully, she cradled one fragile blossom in her palm. “Look at it now, Buck. Things grow here.”

Buck pulled himself to his feet. “Bethie--”

“Because appearances can be deceiving. Because there’s always hope. Because sometimes just surviving is a struggle, but we can never give up.” Elizabeth lifted her eyes from the flowers and stepped to Buck’s side. She rested a hand lightly against his cheek before smoothing away the worried furrow of his brow. “Why didn’t you tell me that we were in trouble?”

“What could I tell you? That I failed? That we might lose everything?” Buck pulled away, scowling at the ground as if it was the very earth that had caused his frequent anxiety. “It’s my problem and--”

“That’s a crock and you know it,” Elizabeth interrupted. “The moment we said ‘I Do’, your problems became mine and mine became yours. This land is mine too -- maybe not in the eyes of the law, but it’s mine all the same. And you’ve got a stubborn streak in you! You’re more obstinate than Samson when you put your mind to it. Goodness Buck, sometimes you honestly make me want to grab up that long hair and strangle you with it!”

Buck choked out a strangled laugh at the image. He took a step toward his wife, drawing her hands into his. “I guess I am a little stubborn,” he admitted sheepishly.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at his understatement before turning serious again. “How much debt are we in?”

Buck took a deep breath. As unpleasant as it would be to face Elizabeth’s disappointment in him, he suddenly felt relieved. Keeping the secret had been tearing at his conscience and his soul more than he’d been willing to admit. “It’s bad. I have the figures at the house.”

“I want to see them when we go back. Then we need to work out a plan of attack.”

Buck’s lips upturned in a weak smile as her words recalled his earlier thoughts.

“When I was in town last week, I saw that the hotel restaurant was looking for a waitress. I can also take in odd jobs -- cooking, sewing--”

“Bethie, no. I can’t ask you to do that.” Buck pressed his palm against his wife’s stomach, caressing her softly through the confines of her skirt. To the outside world she seemed not to have changed a bit, but he knew the contours of her body better than he knew his own. The slight swell of her stomach attested to the new life growing there. The thought of her lugging heavy platters of food almost made him nauseous. “We‘ll… we‘ll work something else out.”

Elizabeth clucked her tongue in irritation. “Firstly, Buck Cross, you didn’t ask me to do it. I volunteered. Secondly, you certainly _can_ ask me. We’re married, and that means we share the burdens as well as the pleasures.. This is _our_ fight.”

Buck found himself being pulled in by the sheer force of her determination. His heart swelled as he marvelled anew at the woman he had married -- the woman whom he grew to love more each day, even when he didn’t think it was humanly possible. He still had no intention of letting her work in a restaurant, but he was willing to entertain whatever other possibilities she may come up with. For the first time since the disease had rampaged through his herd, he began to feel a sense of optimism..

“And we’re going to flourish together?”

Elizabeth stepped into the circle of his arms. “No matter where or how we live, we’ll always flourish together.”


End file.
